Page 46

Cally stood, taking a giant step away from the woman. “Goodnight uh …”

“Stella,” she supplied.

“Right, yes. Sorry. Goodnight, Stella. It was lovely to meet you. Good luck with your⁠—”

I tugged him away, flipping off the drunk teammates booing us, as I guided Cally toward the elevators with a hand on his shoulder. I didn’t slide it away until the doors closed and it was just the two of us.

He was quiet on the ride up to our floor, his breathing slowly going back to normal.

“You okay?” I asked when the doors slid open and we stepped out, turning left down the hall.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Thanks. For the … yeah.”

“Anytime.”

We stopped in front of my door.

“You, uh … you want to come in?”

He looked down the hallway toward his own door for several long seconds, then back at me, blowing out a long breath. His shoulders visibly relaxed. “Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

“You know I don’t,” I said, setting the card to the lock.

Inside, I kicked off my shoes and peeled off my button-down, keeping the white tank undershirt on. I flopped onto the bed and dragged myself back until my shoulders hit the headboard. Cally lowered himself into the chair by the window, settling his weight on the edge of the seat like he wasn’t sure he was going to stay after all.

It reminded me of how he used to be, back when we’d first started hanging out in my room, and I felt a brief stab of hurt. I thought we’d moved past all that bullshit.

He’s had a rough night, my subconscious reminded me. Go easy on him.

I patted the mattress next to me. “Get up here, weirdo.”

Cally hauled himself to his feet and sat stiffly on the edge of the mattress before swinging his legs up to sit alongside me, his hands folded tightly in his lap.

I picked up the remote and flipped through the channels, settling on some movie I’d seen advertised over the summer. But instead of watching the spies working to one-up each other on the screen, I kept seeing Cally’s face downstairs—the absolute horror at the woman being in his lap, his whole body locked up tight.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, his tone hesitant.

“Down there,” I began, tipping my head toward the door. “You looked like you were gonna come out of your skin.”

“It wasn’t⁠—”

“I’m not trying to bust your balls or anything,” I said, turning my head toward him. “I just … are you good? Like, actually?”

He started picking at the cuticle of his left thumb, which was scabbed over in a couple of places. I’d noticed him picking at that spot a lot lately. “I’m fine,” he said, his gaze dropping.

I settled my hand on his arm and squeezed. I didn’t know what possessed me to touch him, only that I felt like I had to—if for nothing else than to get him to stop mutilating his finger.

“Cal. Come on.”

“I’m fine, I just—” He blew out a breath and raised his eyes up to meet mine. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Okay,” I said, keeping my voice level like you would with a scared animal you were trying to coax into taking food from your hand. “But it kind of looked like a big deal.”

On the TV, shots rang out, loud and concussive, and someone screamed. We both turned to look at the screen for a second before Cally drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them.

“I don’t—” He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and groaned. “Okay. Fuck.” He dropped his hands away and looked at me, his voice cracking. “I have to tell you something, and I need you to not—” His voice cracked. “I’ve never said this out loud. To anyone. Ever. So just … like, don’t hate me. Okay?”